He made a sound that might have been amusement. Richard Hale had retired from a middle management position at a logistics company three years earlier and had spent retirement developing the tone of a man who believed he had run General Motors. He wore a navy blazer and checked his watch twice before the server arrived, though we had nowhere to be.
We ordered drinks. My mother asked about the product launch with a face arranged into interest, but when I answered in even mild detail, her eyes drifted toward Bethany.
“Your sister has been doing something exciting too,” she said.
Bethany looked up.
“Oh?”
“She’s growing her platform,” Mom continued proudly. “Almost ten thousand followers now.”
“Nine thousand eight hundred,” Bethany corrected.
“That’s great,” I said.
Bethany smiled without warmth. “You don’t have to say it like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I told you I trained a hamster.”
My father sighed. “Girls.”